


After Gravesen

by Tor_Raptor



Series: The Gravesen Chronicles [12]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Amputation, Angst, Anxiety, Blindness, Cancer, Chemotherapy, Chronic Illness, College, Domestic Avengers, Epilepsy, Family, Fluff, Football | Soccer, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, High School, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Avengers, Medical Procedures, Medical Realism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sarah Rogers' A+ parenting, Seizures, Surgery, Teen Avengers, Terminal Illnesses, Tony Stark Has A Heart, cystic fibrosis, major character illness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-21 03:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30015693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tor_Raptor/pseuds/Tor_Raptor
Summary: The story isn't over after the transition to outpatient therapy, the big surgery, or the last dose of chemo. In fact, it's only beginning. Now united by their time together, these kids embark on the next leg of their journey: life after Gravesen.
Relationships: Bruce Banner & Tony Stark, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, Loki & Thor (Marvel), Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark
Series: The Gravesen Chronicles [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1925263
Comments: 44
Kudos: 48





	1. Steve I: Hey Danvers

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome, welcome, welcome to the biggest fanfiction adventure I've ever created, and possibly the biggest you've ever read. I have been counting down the days to start publishing this sequel and I cannot believe it is finally here! I am so beyond excited to embark on this voyage through the next fifteen years of this universe with you all. There is so much in store that I'm not even going to bother summarizing anything and instead will just let you get going. Fair warning that the chapters don't proceed perfectly chronologically, but context clues should make it pretty obvious when in time things are happening. Another disclaimer: I finished writing this in January 2021, before any development or backstory reveal for any characters provided by Disney Plus series that have come out since then. So this universe might take a sharp turn into being even more alternate than it already was. But regardless of what happens in canon I think this story will still hold up as a worthy successor to the original Gravesen. As you'll see here, some of these chapters actually take it back in time a little to revisit events we've already seen from other perspectives. Enjoy!

**March 14th**

"Hey Danvers," Steve sighed. It felt strange, lying down talking to the ceiling, but it had seemed the least awkward way to do this. He ran his thumb over the corner of her blanket clenched in his fist, trying to figure out what to say next. "I hope you can hear me somehow, but even if you can't I guess this is more for my benefit than yours. Dr. Wilson said it could be helpful, so I thought I'd give it a try. It's been two weeks without you now, and—I'm not going to lie—they were a pretty sucky two weeks. You're probably not proud of what I did to myself right after, but I can see my way past that phase of it now. You asked me to be my best self for the next kid who comes in here, and I certainly tried my best today.

"His name is Tony, and he's a heart patient too. A part of me really doesn't want to let him in out of fear he'll end up like you, but as you said, that's no reason to push people away. I know I'll regret it if I don't help him in any way I can. I certainly don't regret all the time I spent with you, even though it ultimately led to this ache that I know I'll feel for the rest of my life. Don't make fun of me for being all sentimental, but knowing you…" Steve took a deep breath, almost afraid to say the words. "Knowing you is worth the pain of losing you. I wouldn't trade our friendship for a lifetime of grief-free days, and I hope you'd feel the same way if our roles were reversed.

"There's so much more that I want to say to you, but some of it will have to wait because I'm exhausted and am about to fall asleep mid-conversation. But I'll do this again sometime, okay Danvers?" He waited for a response that he knew would never come, then closed his eyes and fell into the most peaceful sleep he'd had in weeks.

~0~

**March 23rd**

"I thought about you in class today. We had to present a poem meaningful to us, and every kid here brought something so powerful I wanted to simultaneously burst into tears and laughter the entire time. I talked about not wanting to die alone, and somehow I got from there to talking about bearing someone's dying wish. I said it was just about the worst thing you can do while also the best thing, and it's true. You've been gone less than a month and I'm _trying_ , I'm really trying, to live my life the way you asked me to, but sometimes it's so hard. We were all there in that classroom, all ten of us, and looking around the room this horrible thought crossed my mind: 'How many of us will still be alive in five years time?'

"When it was just the two of us here, I never paused to consider that I'd one day have to continue without you, but now that I know just how quickly it can happen, I have this twisted belief that I have to prepare myself for that eventuality with everyone here. And that's no way to live, is it? Constantly worried that your friends are going to die, thinking about how different your life would be without them in it.

"I'm used to being the one in the room with the shortest life expectancy," he chuckled. "That's easier, coming to terms with my own premature death, but when I think about it being anyone else it's just overwhelmingly sad. Especially with Bucky's surgery coming up, I just can't stop thinking about how possible it is that I'm going to lose another friend. I wonder if it gets easier the more times it happens, or if all those separate griefs just build on each other…" he trailed off, realizing just how depressing this monologue had gotten. "I'm sorry Danvers. You shouldn't have to listen to me wax poetic about my fears living among sick kids. I just wish you had been there to share a poem too. Rogers out."

~0~

**March 26th**

Steve awoke on the morning of Bucky's surgery and knew there was no way he'd make it through this alone. From the day he learned this would happen, he'd planned to lean on Carol, knowing she'd know just what to say to prevent him from completely losing his cool. "Hey Danvers," he began. "Bucky's in surgery right now and I have to admit I'm missing you more than ever. Nat and I threw a party for him that you would have loved. Seeing everyone having fun like that, I could kinda forget about what was going to happen, you know? But he's in the OR right this very minute and his life is going to be forever changed. If you were here you'd remind me that Bucky can probably do more with one hand than most people could do with three. And you're right, he's going to adapt and he's already made plans for his goalkeeping career, but it's just a reminder that he's under threat from a serious disease, and—and if it comes back despite all this I could lose him." Steve's voice cracked on the last words. "And I don't think I could get through that. I've known him since I was five, and I've always known because of my CF that I'd be the one to leave him behind to continue without me. I long ago came to terms with that, but now there's a chance it'll turn out the other way around. It probably won't—I have to tell myself that or I'll go mad—but if it does, will you look after him for me until I get there?" Steve bit his lip and he knew without any physical signs that she said yes.

~0~

**March 31st**

Steve hadn't thought deeply about Scott in a while, but with Clint's scans coming up and Tony's concern for him, it was impossible not to remember what neuroblastoma could do to a kid. Telling Tony about his deceased young friend was both cathartic and painful all at once. He'd yet to talk much about Carol with his new neighbor, but that was a much fresher wound and Steve was much more likely to lose his cool given how much Tony reminded him of her. When it happened, he'd been so young that he didn't quite register the resounding impact of Scott's death beyond the palpable sadness on the ward. Now that he thought back on it, he recognized just how devastating the circumstances were. Mr. Lang was a single father—at least, that's what Steve assumed given he'd never seen Scott's mother or even heard the kid mention her—and he'd lost his only son. It was too horrible to contemplate. Steve wondered how he was doing now, almost five years later. Hopefully, he'd found at least some sense of peace in life. That was probably the best he could strive for after enduring the unimaginable.

~0~

**April 2nd**

"Today was rough," Steve announced to the ceiling, still shaken from the insanity of that day. "There was an active shooter in the hospital and we all went on lockdown in the common room. Fortunately, none of us got hurt, but Dr. Rhodes took a bullet to the back and there's a chance he might be paralyzed. I really hope that doesn't happen. I know how much you liked him. Parker took it worse than any of us, as you can probably imagine. Happy managed to get him through in one piece, and afterwards he latched himself onto Tony like a baby koala. It reminded me of that one time he did the same thing to you.

"God, Tony reminds me so much of you. He's a lot less sure of himself, but he's got a similar sense of humor and knack for making people like him. Is it a heart condition thing?" Steve asked with a chuckle. Maybe they had the same genetic mutation that also caused their similar personalities. On a whim, he questioned, "Did you send him to me, somehow? It's a strange coincidence to have met someone so much like you in so many ways a mere two weeks after losing you. I wouldn't put it past you to pull something like that. You're probably snickering because it took me this long to put the pieces together…or you're snickering because it's ridiculous that I'm even considering something so outrageous. Either way, I'm picturing your laugh right now and it's just what I needed. Thank you."

~0~

**April 14th**

"No tube… _please_ ," Steve begged. "I can do this." Since the first few coughing fits resulting in hemoptysis, his breathing had steadily worsened to the point where his sats started to dip dramatically even on increased oxygen flow. The doctors were concerned enough that they suggested intubating him, but Steve protested vehemently. He hated the tube more than anything else he'd ever experienced within the walls of this hospital—and that was saying something. As long as he focused at least ninety five percent of his brain power on inhaling and exhaling, he didn't feel like he was actively suffocating. And that was enough for him. Fortunately, it was enough for his team too, but they did argue their way into him consenting to CPAP.

The mask was less invasive than an endotracheal tube, but the machine just as noisy. Steve let the positive pressure help force air into his abused lungs and let a little more of his brain power think about something else. Primarily, he hoped everyone else was okay. All of his friends here were especially vulnerable to infections, and this could easily end badly for any one of them. He also didn't want Thor to feel guilty because his brother brought this upon them; it wasn't his fault, and Steve knew how much Thor missed his family and he was immensely glad he got to see them.

And of course, as they often did when he was alone and not distracted by much, his thoughts drifted to Carol. How would she have reacted to Loki's antics? Steve thought she would have been rather impressed. She also would have been worried sick about everyone, if not also sick herself, just like Steve right now. As much as he wanted her to still be here, he was glad she didn't have to suffer through this.

~0~

**April 24th**

"Happy birthday, Danvers," Steve sighed, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. "I—I knew today was coming, but I didn't expect it to be this _hard_. I had plans to give you the best birthday ever, in fact as I speak I'm looking at the notes I scribbled on a blank page of my sketchbook months ago, and it hurts more than anything to know I can't share them with you." Steve's eyes skimmed over the bulleted list, remembering how he'd lit up with glee as each new idea promised to bring more fun to his friend's special day. Now, the words blurred as more tears clouded his vision. After sending Tony away, he'd cried into Bucky's shoulder for another ten minutes before he calmed down enough for them to talk about it together. They spent half an hour reminiscing before Steve sent Bucky away with a promise to check back in later, after this conversation.

"To make matters worse, our new friends here are undergoing risky separation surgery today and because I'm already thinking about you not being here, I keep thinking about what life will be like for them if one of them doesn't make it. They're _twins_ , and I can't imagine the agony of losing a twin. I only knew you less than a year, and even that pain is more than I can handle some days. To lose someone you've known your whole life has to be worse."

And with that statement, Steve's thoughts drifted to the rest of the Danvers family. Carol's mom, dad, and brother woke up today, on what should have been a happy occasion, and there was nobody there to give an extra hug to or to make a special breakfast for. He wished he'd gotten her brother Steve's contact information at the funeral, so he could at least call to offer condolences on what must've been an infinitely difficult day.

"What did you like to do to celebrate your birthday?" he asked aloud. They'd shared in Steve's birthday festivities—Carol unknowingly so until afterward—but after she found out he'd never considered asking her about her personal and family traditions for such an occasion. That was just one more question that would forever remain unanswered.

~0~

**May 10th**

"Things are getting dicey, Danvers. Parker's not doing well. They have him back on the NG-tube, but he tried to fight it. Remember how excited he was when they finally took it out the first time? I've never seen the kid grin like that, and I can't imagine how devastating it is for them to put it back in after all the work he's put in to get better. It seems unethical. They have him _restrained_ for God's sake, and I can't help but think that if you were still here he wouldn't have gotten this bad. You were always so good with him. I'm not sure if you know this, but I saw that video Bucky took of you two playing football in the hospital lobby and hijacking Dr. Lee's lunch. I know you didn't show me because you thought I'd be mad at you for breaking rules and causing chaos, but when I watched the video the only thing I could focus on was the look of pure joy and admiration in Parker's eyes. You were…so good at making people look like that," he choked out. Steve wanted nothing more than to see that look in Parker's eyes again, but when he tried to picture it in his head the only image that came to mind was Parker frantic and fearful, thrashing against restraints put there against his will.

~0~

**May 12th**

It was two o'clock in the morning. The ward was silent but for the footsteps and shuffling of the nurses on night shift. Steve should have fallen asleep hours ago, but his eyes refused to remain shut. Every time he closed them, he watched Tony wilt as Steve shouted at him. Steve pressed his ear to their shared wall periodically, hoping to hear something to indicate his friend was still alive. If it turned out he wasn't, Steve doubted he'd be able to live with himself. The lockdown had dragged on for days and each day heralded new misfortune for one of his friends. Tony remained completely radio silent and Steve was starting to spiral. Now more than ever he wished he could reach out to Carol for advice, but the best he could do was speak as if she could hear him and imagine what she'd say.

"Even though I could really use your help right now, I'm glad you're not here for this. You'd hate being cooped up. Who am I kidding, if you were here, things wouldn't have gotten like this in the first place. I really messed up, Danvers," he admitted, running a tired hand over his face. "God, you must be so disappointed in me. I was blinded by my hatred of watching people suffer, and in trying to eliminate suffering I just caused more of it. I swear I was trying to do the right thing, but I made Tony so upset that he won't talk to any of us and I'm terrified that something horrible is happening to him. What do I do? How can I fix this if Tony won't answer his phone and I'm not allowed to leave this room?" Steve thought about what Carol would do, and the answer was obvious. She wouldn't let arbitrary rules stand in the way of getting her friends what they needed. But Steve didn't possess Carol's propensity for mischief. If it was really the right thing to do, could he bring himself to disobey direct orders? For Tony, Steve definitely could.

~0~

**May 27th**

"Tony got discharged today," Steve stated. "I know I haven't talked to you in a while, but things have been crazy. After the rough patch to end all rough patches, we're all back in a good place, for the most part. I managed to reconcile with Tony, you'll be glad to hear. He's got a VAD now but is doing well enough to await transplant at home. I don't know how well you knew him since he mostly kept to himself, but Bruce got to go home too. I'm really happy for both of them, but of course it's bittersweet. Watching them get to leave only reminds me of how badly I wanted that for you too." Steve let out a long, cathartic sigh. He knew considering the 'what-ifs' wasn't a healthy way of thinking, but sometimes he couldn't help it. Every milestone he or his friends reached was one more that Carol would never get to, and no matter how much time passed that sting never faded.

"I might be getting discharged soon, but because my PFTs haven't improved, they're going to do a full transplant evaluation first to see if I can get added to the list. I'm not even sure what I want the results to say," he admitted. If they put him on the list, waiting for that call would add another layer of tension to his already hectic life. It also meant he was truly on death's door. If they decided he didn't need to be on the list, that only meant he still had further to decline before they reconsidered him. Steve did not eagerly await getting sicker, but he knew it was inevitable. CF was like the tide, eating away at the sandcastle of his life no matter how many moats he built to redirect it or how many walls he built and rebuilt to keep it at bay.

Steve didn't know what else to say, but he didn't want to end on that note. On a whim, he whispered, "I just hope you're happy, wherever you are."


	2. Parker I: A Difficult Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's get this party started with a double-header premiere :)

Parker didn't know why Pietra's death sent him over the edge like that. He'd been okay after Carol, and he arguably knew her far better than he knew either of the twins. It didn't make any sense for this event to retrigger his anxieties, yet in the wake of Pietra's death and the horrible, horrible scream that had flooded the ward he couldn't bring himself to eat. He talked to Dr. Wilson about it, and even he couldn't explain it beyond, "Nobody will ever fully understand grief."

They sent Happy and Peggy, and he could tell immediately by the looks on their faces that he wasn't going to like what they had to say and do to him. The instant he set eyes on the tube, he started shouting. He completely lost control, the scared animal that dwelled within him taking over his every move. Not only did he despise the tube because of the massive discomfort it caused him, he hated it because of what it represented. He failed. After all this time improving, he felt like he was back to square one. Only last time they tried to insert the NG-tube, he'd been silent and pliant, too scared to do much of anything. This time, he wasn't going down without a fight.

He should've known it wasn't worth the effort. When they finally forced it into him and cuffed him to the bed like a dangerous criminal, his wrathful screams turned to sobs. Even right after May died, he hadn't felt this despondent and hopeless. That moment was truly his lowest of lows…so he thought. Then the fight began. Steve and Tony went to war—over _him_ nonetheless, and Parker hated himself for it.

He ripped out the tube at the first opportunity, after he'd been compliant long enough for them to trust him unrestrained. The ensuing nosebleed would have put a professional boxer to shame. Parker told himself he deserved the pain. If he had just kept his shit together, none of that would have happened. He didn't know what he would have done if things turned out any worse. But by some miracle, everybody survived mostly intact.

Saying goodbye to Tony filled him with mixed feelings. On the one hand, Parker would miss him terribly. He didn't know who he would turn to for impromptu sleepovers now. But on the other hand, Tony was the first person he said goodbye to under non-depressing circumstances. Besides, he wasn't going far away like Ned or somewhere he'd never come back from like Carol. Parker could still talk to him pretty much whenever he wanted. And he did, often.

He called Tony the day after his discharge. "Hey Parker," he said after picking up on the second ring. The greeting reminded him so much of Carol that he couldn't help but smile.

"Hi Tony. I just wanted to say hi."

"You sound like a grandma calling her kids," Tony quipped.

"If anyone's the grandparent in this relationship, it's you," he shot back.

Tony paused. "Fair enough. How's everything? I hope the hospital hasn't crashed and burned since I left."

"We survived before you came here, and we're perfectly capable of surviving after."

"Okay."

"How are you? How's being at home?"

"It's kinda lonely, not gonna lie," Tony said. "Here it's just me and my parents. They aren't quite as good company as you guys."

"I'm flattered."

"You should be. Hey, random question, when's your birthday?" he asked.

"Not until August. Why?"

"I need specifics, Parker. August has thirty days."

"Thirty one, actually."

"Wait, really? I thought it was one of the short ones."

"No. September is. They don't put the short months next to each other."

"Weird. Anyway, I need a number."

"August tenth. Why do you need to know so bad?"

"I just want to be able to wish my good friend a happy birthday when the occasion arises."

"Fine. When's yours then?"

"Oh, that's not important."

"What?! You can't demand I tell you my birthday and then _not_ tell me yours."

"Yes I can. As a matter of fact, I think I just did."

"Tony!"

"What?"

"Tell me. I want to be able to wish my friend a happy birthday when the occasion arises."

"Fine. It's…tomorrow."

"Are you kidding? We could have celebrated together while you were still in here if it was so close! Why didn't you tell us?"

"I'm going to be honest, I forgot."

"You forgot your own birthday."

"I mean, I wasn't paying attention to what day it was and I forgot my birthday was so soon. I didn't even realize until my mom mentioned it yesterday."

"Happy birthday then."

"Thanks. Now back to the matter at hand: your birthday."

"What? Why is mine the matter at hand when it's months away. Yours is tomorrow."

"Yeah, so it's too late to do anything. I, on the other hand, now have plenty of time to plan the perfect gift for you."

"Are you kidding?"

"No. Now tell me, is there anything you want? Fourteen is a special birthday."

"Why?"

"Because it's your next one."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Yeah, I'm realizing that now. But it doesn't matter. Now, keep in mind that you're talking to the son of a multibillionaire tech mogul, and tell me what you want for your distant birthday."

Parker did not think he deserved to have Tony be this nice to him. He'd never asked for an extravagant birthday present in his entire life, knowing that May and Ben worked hard just to pay the bills. The LEGO Death Star he'd gotten from the Jones was arguably the most expensive thing he owned, and technically it had been gifted to both him and Ned. He could tell Tony would absolutely say yes to anything he said no matter how ridiculous, but he hated to take advantage of him like that. Parker didn't care that he came from a rich family; that had nothing to do with how they became friends.

"I don't know. It's so far away I haven't really thought about it," he said, flopping down on his bed.

"Come on, there has to be something."

"I don't know."

"I find it hard to believe that a fanboy as hardcore as you can't think of anything he wants."

"I don't need more Star Wars merch."

"Parker, birthday presents aren't about what you need. Especially when they come from me. What do you _want_?"

He rolled his eyes, and as he did so his gaze fell on the LEGOs on his bedside table. Steve, Carol, and Bucky stood proudly on the top floor of the massive space ship. Suddenly, he did have an idea.

"Have you ever heard of a way to make customized LEGO minifigures?"

"What? Is there some obscure Star Wars character that they haven't LEGO-ified already?"

"No. This has nothing to do with Star Wars."

"No, I haven't heard of it, but it sounds cool."

"Let me show you." He snapped a picture of the three figures and sent it to Tony.

"Is that Steve and Bucky?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"That's so cool. The third one—is that Carol?"

"Yeah. She's the one who got them for me. Last Christmas we were the only two patients here."

"Wow. That's awesome."

"There used to be one of me too, but I gave it to her."

"Okay. Do you want me to get you another Parker to replace that one?"

"No." He definitely didn't want it replaced. That would destroy the meaning behind his giving it to Carol. "I want to expand the collection. I don't have a LEGO Tony."

"You want me to get you a LEGO minifigure of myself?"

"Yes."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. I think I've been pretty clear."

"Message received. One LEGO Tony Stark, coming right up."

"In a few months, you mean."

"Yes, of course. What should its shirt look like?"

"Your Black Sabbath shirt. You and Carol both have a thing for band tees."

"Really?"

"Yeah." Tony and Carol actually had a lot in common, a propensity for wearing band shirts being one of the least important similarities. Their natural ability to make Parker feel safe and loved being the most important. "I'm going to be honest though, your taste in music is better."

"That's good to hear."

"She was always blasting nineties stuff. Not my jam."

"Well then, what is your jam?"

"I'm more of a Ramones guy."

"Okay then."

Parker glanced at the clock and realized he was about to be late for his session with Dr. Wilson. "I gotta go soon," he told Tony.

"Okay. Feel free to call again whenever. As I may have mentioned, it's so boring here."

"Get a hobby," he snapped jovially, hanging up immediately after. Parker put the phone down and stifled a childish giggle. He'd waited his entire life to have even one good friend like that, and now he had multiple. May and Ben would be so happy for him.

He walked the familiar route to the Falcon's office and knocked. "Come in," he called. When he saw Parker walk in with a smile on his face, he smiled too. "Someone's happy today. What's up?"

"I just got off the phone with Tony," he said as he sat down in his usual seat and grabbed the Rubik's cube. It had been his go-to fidget from Dr. Wilson's table for as long as he'd been here.

"I love to see that you all are still keeping in touch."

"Yeah."

"So, Mr. Harrington had told me that the foster parent he has lined up is eager to meet you."

"Oh?" Mr. Harrington hadn't mentioned him since…before Tony. Everything was so crazy that he must've realized Parker wasn't stable enough to relocate. But now that things were calmer, it was only a matter of time before he got shipped off to another foster home. Parker wasn't exactly looking forward to it.

"Yes. That's what I want to talk about today. While it is ultimately our decision when you're healthy enough to leave an inpatient environment, you certainly have a voice. What do you think?"

Parker didn't know what to say. He definitely wanted to be healthy enough not to live in a hospital, but at the same time he didn't want to leave this home that he'd known for months and go live with some stranger. Dr. Wilson watched him expectantly, waiting for an answer. Parker shuffled the cube, solved it, then finally said, "I don't know. I want to say no, I'm not ready, but I don't know if that's just because I don't want to live with a stranger."

"That's okay. That's a completely normal way to feel in this situation."

"Do _you_ think I'm ready?"

"Yes, I do," Dr. Wilson said confidently. "But only if you're going somewhere with adequate support. I haven't met the man Mr. Harrington has lined up, and until I do I'm not prepared to sign off on you leaving."

"Okay. That makes sense."

"Is there anything you want to talk about today?" Dr. Wilson had been doing this more and more lately, letting Parker choose what they discussed during a given session. He thought about this for a while, considering any topics that had sat on his mind for the past two days. His sessions with Dr. Wilson took place only every other day instead of every day now. After their conversation on the phone, Parker was still thinking about Tony and his departure. It still felt weird, to say goodbye to a friend in a way untainted with sadness.

"Will I ever stop expecting things to end tragically?" he asked all of a sudden. He snapped his mouth shut as soon as he'd said it, not expecting to have blurted that out and partially regretting it. Did he really expect that? Considering all of his friends at the moment suffered from some form of illness, it made sense. Ever since Tony left and Parker lost the ability to stop by his room to check on him, he started fearing the worst. Especially considering how bad things had gotten when they were separated. And given what happened after Pietra, Parker feared one more loss would shatter him beyond repair.

"Yes, you will," Dr. Wilson said. He didn't add a "probably" or "maybe someday," just avowed it confidently. Parker wished he could feel that sure about it. "Parker, you've been conditioned to fear the worst over the past several years of your life. But conditioning can be undone."

"It took almost ten years to get like this. Will it take ten years to get back?"

"I can't tell you how long it's going to take. These things don't have a predictable course. But you've already made great progress, and we're going to continue to help you until you get to where you need to be."

"Okay."

"Is there a particular story you're worried is going to end tragically right now?" he asked.

"I guess so."

"Do you want to tell me?"

Parker sighed. "It's just weird not having Tony here. If something goes wrong, I won't know, maybe not until it's too late."

"Have you told him this?"

"Not really."

"Do you think telling him would help?"

"No. I just think it would make him feel guilty for leaving. But I don't want that."

"I can assure you Tony is well enough to be home and not here, but I understand your worries. It's a scary thing, to leave the sanctuary here. Do you think maybe you're worried about your own transition when you leave here too?"

"Maybe. I know Mr. Harrington says he has a foster family ready for me, but I don't really want to go to another completely new place. But I don't really have a choice, do I?"

Dr. Wilson sighed. "No, Parker, I'm afraid you don't. And that sucks, there's no denying that. You've been dealt a very difficult hand, and the best you can do is play with the cards you have. Maybe this new foster family will be great."

"Maybe." The Jones had been a brand new family to him, and Parker had loved it there. Maybe he'd have a similar relationship with this Mr. Westcott. "I just hope I get adopted soon so I can stop worrying about an uncertain future."

"I hope so too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like Steve, Parker, and Bucky because, while this story includes everybody, it definitely leans more heavily on those characters.


	3. Tony I: Friday

His backpack sat heavy in his lap on the car ride home. Tony tried to distract himself by focusing on anything else: the city passing by in his window, his mother constantly glancing in the rear-view mirror like she thought he might disappear, and the fact that his father sat in the driver's seat instead of delegating the job to a hired chauffeur known only by his last name.

Bruce was right. This was terrifying. Tony somehow felt like his time at Gravesen was the only life he'd ever known, despite it lasting only two and a half months compared to sixteen years of his life. Almost seventeen. In an instant Tony recognized today's date and its connection to another, rather significant anniversary. His birthday was this Friday, in two days.

Mere moments after this revelation, Mom asked, "Have you thought of anything special you want to do to celebrate your birthday-slash-homecoming?"

"I just remembered my birthday a few seconds ago," he admitted. "So I have no idea."

"I'm sure we'll think of something."

"I definitely don't want a big party," he added. Birthday parties growing up had consisted of Tony's meager guest list being overwhelmed by his father's additions of all his colleagues and their kids, most of whom knew Tony in name only, with the exception of Obi. A part of him wished he hadn't been discharged for a few more days so he could spend it with his Gravesen friends. Maybe Steve would have thrown him a shindig comparable to Bucky's farewell to arms. Not long ago, Tony would have immediately shot that idea down, reminding himself that Steve only did things like that for close friends and he certainly didn't fall into that category. Now, he only regretted that his going home rendered it an impossibility.

Mom and Dad wouldn't let him carry anything inside except his VAD pack. So, while they carted bags, Tony walked through their home for the first time in a lifetime. Everything looked exactly the same, yet felt completely different. When it came to home décor, the Starks embodied their surname. Tony had always hated how their place looked like a stereotypical rich person's. The living room contained almost exclusively various shades of white. Cream drapes, off-white Victorian couch, ivory piano keys. Now that he was a teenager he could appreciate the elegance of it all at least somewhat, but as a kid the octagonal glass panels in the fancy armoire had served as a dozen tiny stop signs, warning him not to touch anything because he might break it.

The kitchen no longer contained any of his snack stashes. Tony checked all his usual spots and found nothing. The cleaning staff must have removed them, and this time Tony hadn't been around to replace them. In fact, looking in the fridge and pantry, no evidence of a teenage boy's eating habits remained.

"We need to restock, I know," his mom said as she entered the kitchen. "I just didn't know when you were coming home and I couldn't bear to let it just sit in there to go bad."

Tony heard the unspoken part of that comment. "It hurt too much to look at it and wonder if you'd ever make it home to eat it." He wandered back through the living room, pausing to look at his father's art wall. The piano he didn't mind because it reminded him of evenings his mother played for them, but the art wall existed solely so Howard could flaunt his wealth. There was no personality in it, no warmth, just receipts with six, sometimes seven, figures. If Tony could change one thing about this room it would be the art wall.

Tony walked into his bedroom afraid of how he might react to it. It was much the same as before, minus the posters and animals he'd brought to Gravesen that were still packed. All his textbooks from junior year still sat neatly stacked on his desk, most of them untouched. He didn't need them to learn the material, just for assigned problems for homework. Thinking about them reminded him that a return to high school loomed in his future. Not this year; it was almost June and he was still a mere two weeks post-op. By the time he was cleared to go back, the school year would be over. Tony shelved all his worries about how to navigate high school with a VAD for another time.

That short walk from the car and through the apartment completely exhausted him, so Tony took off his shoes and plopped down in bed. One thing he wouldn't miss: hospital mattresses. "Oh good, you're resting," Mom said. She peeked her head in before opening the door and bringing in one of his suitcases. "Mind if I unpack for you? You can show me where everything goes."

"Sure," Tony agreed. He doubted he'd have the energy to put away more than a few items in one sitting anytime soon.

Mom pulled Dum-E and Butterfingers out, one in each hand. "Where's Jarvis?" she questioned. Tony blanched. God, there was so much that happened at Gravesen that neither she nor his father knew anything about. Wanda and Pietra topped that list.

"I gave him to a friend," Tony explained. "She needed him more than I do."

"You gave him away?" She sounded downright disappointed.

"Yeah."

"Wow. You loved that bear like it was a brother."

Tony absolutely despised her choice of metaphor. He'd given Jarvis to Wanda in a futile attempt to assuage some of her grief for her lost sister, not long before discovering the existence of his own lost brother. No teddy bear could ever fill a hole that big.

"I do miss him, but I know it was the right thing to do."

Mom stared at him as if she no longer recognized him. Tony knew his experience at Gravesen changed him, hopefully for the better, but seeing her look at him like that reinforced just _how much_ he'd changed. Before either of them could say another word, Howard bustled in carting the wall unit for Tony's VAD. He spent the next twenty minutes setting it up on the bedside table. At some point during that interval Tony drifted off, and he woke up on wall power.

"What if the power goes out?" he silently asked himself. He could only subsist on batteries for so long before he ran out of charged ones. Like a tidal wave, a torrent of questions like that washed over him, leaving him drenched in worry. What if an alarm went off and he forgot what it meant? What if a piece of his equipment broke and he couldn't fix it before it was too late? What if he forgot to take his medication?

Being in the hospital meant having a security blanket in the form of a team of trained professionals prepared to fix any health problem he might encounter. Now that blanket had been ripped away. Trained professionals were a nine-one-one call and miles away instead of a simple button press and a hallway or two. That was a scary thought, and a major adjustment Tony needed to make.

His phone buzzed. "Did you make it home safe?" read the text from Steve.

"Yes," Tony wrote back. "Have things completely fallen apart in my absence?" In response, Steve sent him a picture of Natasha, Clint, and Nick curled up on the common room sofa fast asleep. "Cute," Tony commented. "When is Nick's surgery?"

"June 4th," Steve answered. "Unfortunately I'll probably be discharged by then."

"You're going home too?"

"Yeah. My team has accepted that no amount of IV antibiotics and intensive therapy will bring my lung function up. They're evaluating me for transplant and sending me home on three treatments a day indefinitely."

"I'm sorry."

"It could be worse."

"Yeah." Neither of them mentioned what "worse" entailed, but Tony knew Steve must be thinking it too. "Do you have a hard time adjusting to being home again?" he asked.

"Always," Steve replied instantly. "Every time I manage to forget how difficult managing CF on my own time is."

"I feel the same way about my VAD. I'm good with machines, but when it's one that keeps me alive it's scary."

"I know you'll get the hang of it."

"Thanks. Talk to you later."

"You're welcome. Bye."

Tony breathed a sigh of relief knowing at least some of his support system remained intact, even if not as physically near as before.

~0~

Friday arrived, yet Tony didn't feel any older. But then again that's how most birthdays went. Only on his twenty first would he have an opportunity to immediately feel his age. Unlike other birthdays, this one felt like a legitimate accomplishment. There had been many moments over the past year when Tony doubted he'd make it to today, to seventeen.

He switched over to battery power and wandered into the kitchen to take his meds, finding Mom already busy cooking breakfast. "Good morning," she greeted warmly. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks," Tony replied. He downed the pills with a sip of water and sat down at the kitchen table. "Do you need help with any of this?"

"No. You don't get to help cook your own birthday breakfast. That's the rule."

"Okay. Just thought I'd offer."

"You just sit and relax."

That wasn't an order he was eager to disobey. He glanced through his messages and found cursory birthday wishes from Obi, no doubt mandated by his father, and an overzealous message from Justin. One of these days Tony was going to block his number; he just could never bring himself to do it in the moment. The only one he was genuinely excited to read was one from Parker, who texted him again despite having already wished him a happy birthday when they talked on the phone yesterday.

Reading those, he realized he was awaiting one from another of his Gravesen friends, but to his knowledge they'd never shared their birthdays with each other. Nobody's had fallen during their time together, so they had no reason to exchange that information. Well, it was too late now. Tony wasn't an attention hog who would announce his birthday just so people would treat him special. Most of them were still in the hospital and had more important things to worry about anyway. So Tony resigned himself to celebrating just with his parents, which, based on the smells wafting around the kitchen, wouldn't be so bad.

Mom put a candle in his French toast to be extra cheesy. Tony internally rolled his eyes, but he knew she was just happy to have him home for this day. He did, however, refuse to eat until she sat down with a plate of her own and enjoyed the fruits of her labor. Tony should have been more careful with his phrasing, because she pointed her fork at him and said, "Seventeen years ago, _you_ were the fruit of my labor."

"Gross," Tony scoffed. "Not while I'm _eating_."

"Okay. So, any idea what you want to do today?"

"Not really. It's definitely going to have to be a slow day."

"Of course, of course." He was only two days out of the hospital, so there wasn't much he was even up for doing. "Your father is coming home from work early to give you your present and have dinner with us," she continued.

"Really?" Tony asked. He'd never done that before.

"Yes, really. He's also very nervous about whether or not you'll like your gift, so please be polite in receiving it."

"Yeah, of course," Tony promised. That comment certainly piqued his curiosity about this mystery gift. He drenched the last bite of his French toast in syrup and ate it, denying Mom's offer of a second helping. While she washed dishes, he made his way to the living room and picked out a movie. This marking the beginning of his last year as a minor, he was feeling nostalgic for his childhood. So naturally, he chose what had been his favorite movie as a kid: Raiders of the Lost Ark.

He fell asleep barely halfway through, but it didn't matter because he knew it by heart anyway. Afterwards, he called Parker to check how things were going at Gravesen and received a positive report. Steve and Bucky were both getting discharged soon, Nick having left yesterday on a quest to see as much as he could before his surgery. Tony made a birthday wish for Nick's adaptation to blindness to be as quick and painless as possible.

Dad got home even earlier than Tony expected, immediately offering a not-too-tight hug and a happy birthday. "You're back early," Tony remarked, still somewhat dumbfounded.

"I own the company. Nobody can stop me from leaving whenever I want to," he replied. Tony thought how last year, he'd said just the opposite: "I own the company, I can't just abandon things whenever I want to." Their conversation about Arno really had fundamentally changed Howard. He disappeared into his bedroom and emerged a few minutes later in more casual clothes with a pristinely wrapped gift box in his hand. Mom beckoned them to the living room to sit down together so she and Howard could watch his reaction. More confused and curious than ever, Tony gently shook the box. He'd never gotten an actual gift directly from his father, just cash to buy whatever he wanted—like he couldn't do that anyway—and whatever meal he requested from Mom.

"Just open it," Howard prompted. Tony tore the wrapping paper and opened the plain cardboard box within, wondering what on Earth could have his father so on edge. Inside he found…a worn old teddy bear. Tony eased it out of the box and looked it over, taking in the one ear that was half torn off and the patches of matted fur. Tony's brain completely spun out trying to figure out where Howard got this and why he'd given it to Tony.

"This isn't a replacement for Jarvis," Howard assured. "I know you gave him away for all the right reasons, and I like to think I'm giving you this guy for all the right reasons too."

"Who is it?" Tony asked politely, remembering his mother's warning.

"This is Friday. It was Arno's."

"Oh, wow." Tony was simultaneously honored and overwhelmed.

Howard continued, "His mom and I gave it to him on his third birthday, which fell on a Friday. He loved Fridays because all the grown-ups he knew loved them too, so he named the bear Friday. He brought it with him everywhere, and especially during treatment," he gulped, but kept going, "This bear was his best friend. I couldn't handle getting rid of it, so it's just been sitting in my closet all these years. But now I want you to have her. Friday's a she-bear, I should mention. Arno insisted she-bears made better companions because they take care of their cubs."

"I'm honored," Tony said. He knew how monumental it must've been for his father to unearth Friday from the back of his closet, and this represented another small step towards reintroducing the memory of Arno to their lives. By gifting this to Tony, Howard had connected him and Arno on a level beyond the genes they shared with their father. "I'll take good care of her," he vowed.

"I know you will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suppose I have officially established that all MCU AIs will be teddy bears in this universe. Seems fitting enough.


	4. Quill I: The Ravager

When Quill's mom died, he thought it was over. All he had left was an old Walkman and some mixtapes that she'd made for him. Oh, and apparently a genetic predisposition for brain cancer.

And Yondu.

Yondu was…sort of his stepfather? Except he'd never been married to his mother. Or dated her. It was complicated. Regardless, he was the closest thing to a father Peter had ever had, and upon his mother's death became his legal guardian. However, he wasn't super great at the touch-feely, caretaking stuff, so throughout Quill's treatment he'd been mostly off gallivanting around the country working odd jobs or whatever suited his fancy. Yondu was never one for stability.

Fortunately, after his surgery in Missouri, Peter had been sent to Gravesen where he found more family than he'd ever had before—frankly more than he wanted sometimes. Sure, it was great to have a shoulder to lean on or to hang out as a group and all that, but he always felt like he didn't really fit in. Thor was the only one who ever really sought him out, and even he stopped doing that after the big seizure destroyed his speech.

Besides, Peter had always imagined his life to be more…free than the kind he lived in the hospital. He didn't want to get attached because that would make it harder to leave—and he had every intention of leaving, whether in a car with Yondu or a coffin. Luckily for him, his most recent appointment with Dr. Potts suggested it would be the former. Peter immediately called Yondu with the good news.

"You're busting out of there?" he asked.

"Yeah. Are you providing the getaway car or not?"

"Well…not exactly."

"What do you mean?"

"It's a surprise. I'll tell you when I get there."

"When are you coming?"

"When do you need me there?"

"Two or three days, my doctor said."

Yondu paused. "I can do that."

"What are you plotting?"

"I said it's a surprise. Now hang up so I can get a move on."

"Okay, okay. Bye. I'll see you soon."

"See you."

Peter hung up and rolled his eyes. Yondu was never one to give a straight answer. Sometimes, if Peter pestered him for answers enough, he threatened to eat him. But of course he never actually made good on that threat.

Most of his fellow patients had already left, and Peter didn't particularly care if they had a 'proper farewell' or not. He just wanted to get out of dodge. So, he packed all his bags and took his own Xs back from Thanatos without telling anybody. However, he did at least say goodbye in the Gravesen group chat before leaving it.

Yondu showed up just in time to sign his discharge paperwork. Peter hadn't seen him in months, but he knew Yondu wasn't a hugger. Still, he got the biggest grin on his face when he saw his not-father walk in.

"So this is where you've been cooped up for the past couple a weeks, eh?" he asked with a glance around the ward.

"Yep. It's not bad."

"I've got something even better."

"Oh yeah?"

"Let's blow this popsicle stand."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Cliché."

"Whatever."

Together they walked out of the hospital and into a waiting taxi. Peter had no idea where they could possibly be going, and when he asked Yondu refused to answer. He didn't even know where Yondu had been living all this time, though he often relayed stories from the several years in the eighties when he lived in a tiny house in the middle of nowhere in Nebraska.

"Will you please tell me where we're going?" he asked after the ride dragged onto half an hour.

"East."

"That's not very specific."

"Ever looked at a map?"

"Well, yeah, but if we keep going east we're just going to hit the water. I'm assuming we're stopping at some point before that?"

"Maybe," Yondu said cryptically. Peter stared at him in utter confusion. It reminded him of the time Yondu refused to tell him anything about what he had planned for Peter's eleventh birthday and it ended up being a cross country road trip with stops at only the most ridiculous roadside attractions. The Ben and Jerry's Flavor Graveyard had been pretty cool, though. Maybe this would be something similar.

When they finally stopped, they practically _did_ hit the water. Yondu and Peter got out of the taxi at a beaten down old marina that looked like it had probably been in peak condition at least twenty years ago. The place housed very few boats, most of which barely looked seaworthy. Was this where he worked now? Peter didn't think Yondu had any experience in boat repair or anything like that, but he wouldn't put it past him to learn just for the sake of proving he could.

"What are we doing here?" he asked.

"You'll see," Yondu said. "It's this way." He pointed to one of the docks and they headed down. "So, after everything you've been through, I thought you deserve to have a little fun."

"What?"

"I got this baby just for you."

They had arrived. Bobbing in the water before them sat a lovely little boat, not big enough to be flashy but big enough that it wouldn't feel claustrophobic even after a long time spent aboard. Yondu hopped from the dock onto the boat and held his arms out like he was at the prow of the Titanic.

"This is yours?" Peter questioned.

"You bet."

"Where'd you get it?"

"I won it in a bet."

Peter raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

"Don't ask," Yondu added. He beckoned Peter aboard, and together they walked the entire boat stern to bow. They even explored below deck, which had a cabin big enough to sleep two plus a small kitchen and bathroom. It was far more modern than Peter expected.

"Are we taking it somewhere?"

"How about…everywhere?"

"What?"

"I got this for us to have the adventure of a lifetime! Possibly one that takes a lifetime!"

"A lifetime?"

"If you want."

"Yeah, of course I want to." Peter had never wanted anything more. Whenever he got radiation treatments and had to stay still for ages, he daydreamed about seeing the world. When Wanda and Pietra had asked what everyone wanted to do, see the world had been his immediate answer. However, the contingency of that conversation had been "something you've always wanted to do but never could." Because of his health, Peter never had the ability to travel the world. And frankly, he still couldn't. "Don't I have a bunch of follow-up appointments to go to over the next…several years?"

"Yeah, 'course you do, kiddo. I've timed our travels so we'll be back here for every appointment."

"You did?" That was…out of character for Yondu. He never planned things, instead acted on impulse and impulse alone. To hear that he'd planned so far ahead, just for him? It warmed Peter's heart.

"Yes, I did. What would your mother say if I neglected your health like that? Despite appearances, I _can_ be responsible." As he said this, they stepped back up onto the main deck and Yondu tripped over a mooring rope that he'd left messily coiled on the deck. Peter stifled a laugh—and failed miserably. "You didn't see that." Yondu said.

"Nope. Definitely not."

Yondu stood back up and dusted himself off. "Did you see her name?"

"Her?"

"You always call boats, 'She,' Peter. Go look at her name."

Peter hopped back onto the dock and walked to the prow to look at the name painted on the side. It read, "the Ravager." That's what Peter had called almost every single toy car he'd had as a kid.

"I love it."

"Thought you might. I painted over the original name."

"What was it?"

"Codfather."

"Yep. This is way better."

Yondu hopped off the boat and stood before Peter on the dock. "There's one more thing," he announced.

"There's more?"

"Yep. Kraglin should be bringing her over any minute now." Kraglin was Yondu's best and possibly only friend. They met at a truck stop in the nineties. That was all either of them ever revealed about their first meeting, and Peter surmised that the circumstances were either inappropriate for his young ears or so embarrassing that they'd sworn each other to secrecy under penalty of death.

"Her? Is there a second boat?"

"No."

Suddenly, Peter heard barking in the distance. Kraglin appeared on the dock, a leash in one hand. The other end of the leash was attached to…someone Peter never expected to see again, especially not outside of the hospital.

"Gamora?" How the hell had Yondu's friend gotten his hands on one of the Gravesen therapy dogs?

"Yep. She's your favorite of the bunch, isn't she?" Kraglin asked as he stepped within speaking range. Gamora darted around his feet eagerly, sniffing everything in sight. Peter had never seen her so rambunctious, but then again he'd only ever seen her working. She must save all her energy for after hours.

"How did you know?"

"Last time we talked on the phone, you raved about her," Yondu explained.

"More importantly, how is she here? Doesn't she have, like, owners or something? She's part of a therapy dog program."

"Was part of a therapy dog program," Kraglin corrected.

"Did they kick her out?"

"Not exactly," Yondu said. He and Kraglin exchanged a glance. "But it's not important. The important thing is that she's ours to take care of now. She's going to join us on our adventure."

Peter looked at both of them and immediately understood what had happened. "Wait—what the fuck? You _dognapped_ her?"

"No, not at all," Kraglin said.

"Then what did you do?"

He floundered for an answer but found none. Peter stopped petting Gamora to cross his arms and glare at them. "I'm not getting on that boat until you tell me what happened that resulted in you in possession of this dog."

"I just…struck a little deal is all," Yondu insisted. "Nothing illegal about it. Now let's set sail, shall we?" He took the leash from Kraglin and almost got dragged into the water as Gamora bounded onto the boat, tail wagging. "See, the dog's excited? Why aren't you?"

Peter was still suspicious of their methods, but he supposed dognapping wasn't a serious enough crime to put them in prison or anything. It certainly wasn't the most serious crime Yondu had ever committed, and that was just among the things Peter knew about. With a shrug, he hopped aboard, eager for the first of many adventures.

"Kraglin, are you coming with?" he asked.

"Nope. But I'll meet up with you guys soon," he promised. He reached for one of the ropes mooring them to the dock, and Peter almost freaked out. They weren't leaving now as in _right_ now, were they? He wasn't prepared for a sea voyage lasting an indeterminate amount of time. Then, Kraglin straightened up and pointing a mocking finger at Peter. "You really thought I was going to set you loose? Ha!"

"Relax, Peter, we're not shipping out until tomorrow. We've got supplies to stock."

"Oh, good." Peter heaved a sigh of relief.

"Now, there's something very important I want to discuss," Yondu began. "Peter, if we're going to do this, it will be the ultimate adventure. However, I know people your age are often…tied down…by a certain social convention. If we do this, I need us both to commit to the raw freedom of it."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Are you going to spend the entire time worrying about what your landlubbing friends back here are doing?"

"No!" Peter swore. They all had each other. Peter trusted that they would get on with their lives. They certainly didn't need him keeping tabs on them.

"Prove it."

Peter reached into his pocket for his cell phone, a hand-me-down gift from Yondu for his twelfth birthday. He held it up for Yondu to see, then hurled it into the Atlantic Ocean. "Is that proof enough for you?" he asked with a smirk.

"Definitely. Gamora, set course for Tahiti!" The dog barked in excitement. Peter stepped up to the bow of the ship and stared out at the endless horizon. He listened to the cry of seagulls, the sound of Yondu grunting as he moved coils of rope into less hazardous places across the deck, and the eager barking of Gamora. Peter couldn't imagine a better crew to set sail with. Only one thing was missing. He popped belowdeck to see if Yondu had already packed the most crucial tool for any adventure. Peter found it tucked away in a cabinet and brought it back up. He reached into his backpack and pulled out the tape, popping it into the boom box.

"Ooga-chaka Ooga-Ooga. Ooga-chaka. Ooga-Ooga." Even Gamora started bobbing her head to the beat, ears flapping.

"Now that's what I'm talking about."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be totally honest, I haven't known what to do with Quill as a character from the start of this series. But based on feedback I've gotten (or rather a lack thereof), none of you really care enough about him to beg for more content. He was the only character of the main 10 in Gravesen not to have a single person ask for a prequel, so I didn't force myself to write one. This story is already vast and complex enough without a detailed arc for Peter Quill. And honestly, what's more in-character for Starlord than to basically yeet himself off the face of the Earth with a maybe-kidnapped dog and go on adventures with his possibly-wanted-criminal of a non-stepfather?


	5. Steve II: All Quiet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me a long time to figure out what order to present these 85 chapters in. It involved 85 index cards with plot points scribbled on them scattered across the floor and me frantically switching them around to make sure proper context was provided for all of them. It was nuts. Originally this chapter didn't come until much, much later, but I realized that for things to make sense it had to be now. The way things turned out, some parts of the story are more dense in certain characters, while other characters might not narrate a chapter for a long stretch. You're welcome to ask me when we'll get the next chapter for a specific character if you're anxious to read about them and I'll tell you as long as it doesn't spoil anything.

Steve knew as soon as he popped the nose plug on that these PFT results weren't going to be good. He could feel it in his lungs. They'd tried just about everything to clear the mucus that had settled in the weeks before and right after Carol's death, but Steve knew he wasn't coughing nearly enough despite the intensified treatment regimen. The technician told him to take a deep breath and he sincerely tried his hardest to force the numbers as high as they could go. He grew dizzy from the force of his exhalation, but it wasn't enough. His PFT hadn't budged from the nadir it had dropped to before this admission.

Dr. Erskine told him they'd be doing a full transplant evaluation before discharging him. Which meant over the next four days, Steve endured seemingly endless rounds of scans, bloodwork, and tests. They CTed his lungs, sinuses, and digestive tract. He had to drink barium—which tasted worse than some of the more disgusting liquid antibiotics he'd taken as a child—so they could x-ray his esophagus, stand in front of another x-ray machine to take a sniff test to observe the movement of his diaphragm, and lay flat on a table for an hour while a doctor threaded a catheter through a vein in his neck to see the blood vessels around his lungs and heart. It was exhausting, difficult, and frightening at times, but the real kicker was hearing that he was still considered too healthy for transplant.

On the bright side, he got to go home, but on some oral antibiotics, a treatment regimen indefinitely increased to three sessions a day, and instructions to up his calorie intake to return the weight he'd dropped while in the hospital. He took Monday and Tuesday off before returning to school. In his long absence, he'd almost forgotten how strange that place felt without Bucky by his side. Steve told his friends he'd be back that day, but they still looked surprised to see him.

"Are you sure you're good to be back? You look exhausted," Brock noted.

"I'm pretty sure being exhausted is par for the course when it comes to high school," Steve replied.

"If you say so," Jim said. "We're glad you're back."

"Yeah, not having you or Bucky here gets so lonely," Gabe sighed.

"I'm sorry. I'll try my best to stick around," he promised with a weak attempt at a smile. It was only lunchtime on his first day, and he already felt completely drained. SGA was welcoming him back at a meeting at the end of the day, and at this rate he wasn't sure he'd even be able to stay awake for it.

"This was the longest you've ever been gone," Timmy noted shyly. Steve heard the poorly-disguised quaver in his voice. They all understood what this trend indicated; Steve would take longer and longer to bounce back from exacerbations and infections until the day arrived when he didn't bounce back at all. He didn't know how many years he had before that day arrived, but dwelling on it served little purpose.

"I know. But I'm back now, that's what matters," he assured.

Jasper Sitwell, the class's Vice President, looked none too happy that his superior had returned, but only one and a half weeks of school remained, so it wasn't like there was much for them to do. They spent the hour catching him up on any important decisions he'd missed and some loose plans for next year.

"Are you actually going to come to homecoming next time?" Jasper asked. "It didn't exactly reflect well on the SGA when our president decided he was too cool to come to his own dance."

"I can't make any promises," he said. Clenching his fist to keep from punching Jasper, he took a few deep breaths. He missed homecoming last year to visit Carol, not because he was 'too cool' for it. "But I'll try my best."

When he finally got home, Steve wanted to just keel over and take a nap, but he had to squeeze in his second treatment of the day. His eyes almost drifted closed, but the need to cough about ten minutes in startled him awake. The hum of the vest actually did lull him to sleep after that, and he woke up only when it stopped. He knew he was supposed to eat a snack after school, especially now that he was on orders to put weight on, but he was too exhausted to even think about making his way to the kitchen. Steve set a timer for an hour, curled up in bed, and let himself fall asleep again.

He ended up sleeping through that alarm and awoke to his father shaking his shoulder to get him to come to dinner. "I'm up, I'm up," Steve said, working his way to sitting while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. As soon as he could see straight, he started coughing. It was almost as violent and arduous as his usual first-thing-in-the-morning fit.

"No rush," Dad assured. "Are you doing okay?"

"Yeah, m'fine," he assured.

"I know you said you were ready to go back to school, but if it's going to leave you like this every day we might have to reconsider."

"It's only the first day."

"You're right, but I want you to promise you'll be honest with us."

"Of course. But there's only seven more days. I'm sure I can do it."

"Okay. I trust you. That being said, I know you didn't eat after school. You must be hungry."

He wasn't. The tiredness prevented him from really hearing anything his stomach tried to tell him, but he'd grown used to eating beyond his own hunger. Mom and Dad had already laid everything out, reminding Steve just how long he'd slept. He sat down and opened the pill case by his plate to down his enzymes before attempting to stomach as much as he could.

"How was the SGA meeting?" Mom asked.

"We didn't really do much," Steve explained. "I'm pretty sure they wouldn't have met at all if it wasn't my first day back."

"Did they seem glad to see you?"

"Not Jasper. My return only takes him down a notch."

"Did the majority of them seem glad to see you?"

"Yeah. I think they prefer me being in charge to Jasper. At least, I hope so."

"Are you keeping the position next year?"

"Yeah. Hopefully I'll be there for more of the year this time."

"We'll do everything we can to make sure that happens," Mom promised. Steve knew that meant he would miss out on a lot of events that winter, and while that used to make him angry he now understood just how necessary it was. He'd much rather miss out than catch a virus or something. Maybe he could even convince his friends to take extra precautions to stay flu-free to ensure they didn't have to avoid him.

~0~

Steve survived Thursday and Friday, squeezing in his third treatment of the day before bedtime each day. He had accommodations for taking his final exams since he missed so much school, so he didn't have to worry about studying months' worth of material over the weekend. Saturday morning he slept in until ten despite going to bed on time the night before. He spent his vest time working on something he usually avoided: a self-portrait. Steve drew other people with ease, but the idea of setting his own features to paper frankly scared him. It shouldn't make a difference, but for whatever reason he was wary of how he would interpret himself in pencil form.

Steve focused on each piece of the drawing by itself as he worked on it, refusing to take in the whole image until it was complete. His mind always wandered when he sketched, discovering a new freedom and depth of thought that he never found anywhere else. Oftentimes he couldn't articulate his emotions to himself, but he could set pencil to paper and create something that explained them perfectly. By the time his treatment finished, he'd almost completed the drawing.

He didn't like what he saw. Steve had depicted himself at this very desk with his head cradled in his hand as if he didn't have the strength to hold it up, a pencil in his other hand and his nebulizer held between his teeth. It was an image of someone overwhelmed and verging on hopeless, someone who couldn't see a way out of this slump. Even after that failed drug trial left him nearly paralyzed for a month, he hadn't been this discouraged. Steve couldn't even figure out why. Maybe it was because this stay had lasted so long and resulted in no improvement. Every time he'd left the hospital before, he'd done so with at least somewhat of a jump up in lung function.

Frankly, he was afraid. He feared what the next exacerbation would bring, whether he would still be able to go to school after his next dip in health. At this rate, would he even be capable of going to college? Or graduating high school? Steve didn't know, and while he could ignore it while still in the hospital and focused on getting out, now he could think of nothing else.

~0~

The last week went somewhat better, and the first week of summer vacation even better than that. He didn't have to nap every single day after school, and when he did it was only for an hour or less. Jim and Timmy still eyed him cautiously whenever they saw him in the hallways or at lunch, as if any second he would collapse, despite his repeated assurances that he was fine. He wasn't _fine_ , but he wasn't actually about to keel over. However, he did miss Bucky. And Tony. And Natasha. And all his friends back at Gravesen. They weren't as numerous as they'd been just a few weeks ago. It was as if Bruce's departure signaled a cascade of improvement for them all. After being in there together for so long, they were almost discharged in one massive wave.

Steve wondered how long it would take before none of them remained and only strangers populated the pediatric residential ward. Would he still have the motivation to be a guide and mentor-of-sorts to a new generation of sick kids? Yes. Steve knew without a doubt that he could still be there for them, as he'd promised Carol. Until then, he'd soak up as much relaxation over summer vacation as he could. As it turned out, that was a more involved process than he'd initially thought, because his parents decided to surprise him.

They hadn't really gone anywhere over school breaks since he was put on oxygen, and he hadn't complained about it. Even before, travelling with him had been a massive hassle with all the equipment. It had taken him weeks of begging for one week at the beach when he was younger. This time, however, he didn't even need to ask. Mom explained, "You look like you deserve a vacation."

"That bad, huh?" he said with a huff. She just kissed his head and told him to pack a suitcase. Steve did as he was told, in addition to helping pack things like his vest, medications, and oxygen concentrator. He had more stuff than both of his parents combined, which he found mildly hilarious. It was a reasonably long drive, but he slept through most of it. He woke up, but didn't open his eyes because his parents were deep in conversation and Steve didn't want them to stop on his behalf, especially since the topic of conversation was _him_.

"I know. I'm not sure if letting him go back to school was the right call. He's exhausted," Mom said.

"Maybe it was a bit too soon. But he's got the whole summer to recuperate before next year. It'll be okay," Dad replied. The statement would have been reassuring if he sounded at all like he believed it.

"And if it's not?"

"Then we'll homeschool him like we were considering last year."

"He hated that idea."

"I know. It's not ideal, but we have to work with what we have. We can't let him sacrifice his health for that normalcy."

"I know we can't, but he's going to want it so badly. I don't know if I can say no to him without it breaking me," Mom admitted. Steve almost audibly choked up. He'd argued valiantly against the idea of homeschool because he knew he could manage public school and he wanted to soak up as much of it as he could before he couldn't do it anymore. If it really came down to it, he would concede to staying home. Yes, he'd be devastated, but he understood on a fundamental level that his life couldn't be normal forever. Steve didn't want Mom to beat herself up for enforcing that.

"If it comes to that, we'll do it together," Dad promised. "None of us are in this alone."

"Yeah." She hesitated. "I just miss when he was little."

"What about it?"

"This future for him that we knew was coming was still far away. It was easier to pretend that he'd always be here. It was easier to ignore the fact that one day he might—he might have to leave us," she said, voice breaking. Steve's heart clenched in his chest to hear her so distressed.

"Sarah, how long have you been ruminating on this?" Dad asked concernedly.

"Since Carol passed away. At the funeral, I couldn't stop looking at Mr. and Mrs. Danvers and wondering when the day would come that we'd stand up there. I thought to myself, 'There's no way I'm going to look that composed.'"

"Oh God, Sarah, why didn't you tell me? You've been sitting on that for months?"

"I didn't want to put the thought in your head, because once it's there it's impossible to get rid of."

"That's kind of you, but we promised each other when Steve was diagnosed that we'd share the burden. That includes stuff like this."

"Well, now I've told you. Can we skip to the part where you're my rock in this moment of vulnerability?"

"There's no skipping around when it comes to your feelings," Dad reminded her.

"I know. I just wish I could get past it and focus on the here and now, you know? I can't keep looking at him and wondering when it'll be the last time I see his face." Steve struggled to keep his face blank after hearing that. It was one thing to know his lifespan was shorter than average, another entirely to watch his deterioration in real time and wonder when the countdown would end. He had a hard enough time living it; he couldn't imagine having to watch passively.

Dad gulped audibly. "No, you can't. That's no way to live."

"I don't know how to stop it," Mom said fearfully.

"It's not a switch you can flip. You have to take baby steps, small conscious decisions every day."

"I don't even know where to start."

"Have you thought about talking to Steve about it?"

"What good would that do besides scaring him? If he knows I'm having trouble staying hopeful, what's he supposed to think?"

"Sarah, you and I raised a determined, independent son. He's not going to give up because you're worried about his future. Knowing him, he'll take it as motivation to prove you wrong and outlive you."

"Gosh, I hope that's the case."

"You hope what's the case?" Steve asked, finally deciding to announce his awareness. He knew he couldn't manage to keep quiet for much longer at this rate.

"How long have you been awake?" Mom asked, her tone filled with dread.

"Just a moment or two," he lied, adding a yawn and a cough to prove it. Steve didn't want them to worry about him having overheard this conversation.

"I hope it's not too crowded," she stated. Steve didn't know his mother was such a good liar. He also didn't know whether or not he wanted her to approach him about this subject one day. She'd take her time before deciding whether or not to come clean, he knew. Sarah Rogers never did anything important without thoroughly deliberating first. Including this trip, apparently.

She and Dad didn't let him do anything that could be considered work. They carried his things, cooked, and cleaned everything despite Steve's continued offers of assistance. He hadn't been to the beach in years, and he forgot how much he loved it. Steve remembered growing up listening to Bucky rave about his family's vacations, how much he'd wanted the exact same experience. He'd begged and begged for a beach trip until Mom and Dad finally agreed, and he'd spent every last minute playing in the sand or the tide pools. One day he'd found a washed-up jellyfish and spent nearly half an hour poking it with a stick. Young Steve had thought that was the coolest thing ever.

This time, he didn't possess the same youthful energy, but he still drank in the scent and the sound of the ocean, the feel of sand beneath his toes. Mom had bought a new book for him to read while they were here: All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque. He preferred World War II books to World War I, but this one instantly captured his attention. Steve fell in love with the characters, their deep-rooted sense of camaraderie reminding him of his own relationship with his fellow Gravesen residents. The ending, though, he didn't particularly like. He got the message clearly and understood its brute honesty; in the grand scheme of war, individual lives didn't matter. But as someone who fought his own war of sorts, who'd seen his fellow soldiers fall in the line of duty, he didn't appreciate the reminder that the world saw them as nothing more than statistics of their diseases.

When no more parents worried about outliving their children, only then would things be all quiet.

**Author's Note:**

> Many of you were asking if Carol would still play a part in the sequel. Does this chapter answer your question?


End file.
